


we’ve never met (but can we have coffee or something?)

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (does it rain in limbo?), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coffee Shops, Food Issues, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Restaurants, Terrifying Sculptures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 10:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10942674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: In a world where the Phantom Thieves never existed, Yusuke shows up in Cafe LeBlanc.This is the velvet hour.





	we’ve never met (but can we have coffee or something?)

**G— University Message Board 20--/10/10**

_Anonymous User 3827163_  
What was the commotion in Studio 4 today?   
I think I saw more professors today than I have seen in all three years here. 

_Anonymous User 3827106_  
You know that pupil of Madarame? Overnight he(?) got up three papier-mâché sculptures!   
They’re huge!

_Anonymous User 3827092_  
Also horrifying.   
It’s like Unkei met H. R. Giger and birthed titanic children.

_Anonymous User 3826898_  
Kitagawa, right? He’s a genius, but…

_Anonymous User 3827163_  
Well  
He was a pupil of Madarame…

 

The first time that Akira meets Yusuke, he knows his name.

The first meeting happens when Yusuke comes into LeBlanc, where Akira has been working at for the past four years. He has a smudge of red paint dried underneath his right eye, which, like the left, is bruised with lack of sleep. Possibly malnutrition from the sunken set of his features, which would be fine and pleasing otherwise. There’s paint on the shirt cuffs that poke out from his coat sleeves. Bits of red and blue and black. 

“Coffee,” he says when Akira come to take his order; he looks at Akira only briefly and then back to the menu as he hands it over. “Black.”

There is no other interaction that first time. Yusuke drinks his coffee after Akira brings it to him, staring into space. Akira worked at the cafe long enough not to mind. Nor care. He leaves exact change. That’s fortuitous. The til was starting to run low.

Akira doesn’t expect him to come back.

 

He doesn’t come back to the cafe. Not for a while.

Instead, a week later, Akira encounters him at the grocery on a rare day off that coincides with the weekend sales. Instant curry is one of the specials, on sale at three for ¥300. Akira has just finished filling his basket with an assortment of flavours when he turns to the right and sees Yusuke. He isn’t paint-covered today, but he’s easily recogniseable. Blue hair, tall, malnourished. He’s in the process of lifting a bag of the rice into a cart. 

He looks up as he straightens. Their eyes meet. He blinks. He has very long eyelashes. They look darker than his hair because his eyes are grey.

They do not know each other’s names yet, but there is a heavy feeling. It wasn’t there at the cafe. It seems to have frozen Yusuke. It makes Akira feel like they should talk.

It’s highly unusual.

Akira feels himself frown. Yusuke seems to shake himself. Back into himself. He places the bag down his shopping cart with a soft grunt. He smooths out his shirt. Sleeves. Akira moves. Right foot. Left. He adjusts his basket of curry from his right hand to his left.

“Have—” he starts, and his voice is rusty; he hasn’t spoken to anyone since yesterday at work, “we met before?”

Yusuke eyes him. Cagey, if Akira had to put a word to his body language. He’d looked distracted at the cafe. Bothered, too, and hungry. He doesn’t look any less hungry now, guarding himself and a shopping cart consisting of a bag of rice. It’s marked for clearance.

“No,” he says, very low and soft, before ducking his head and pulling his cart back so he can go around the display. “Excuse me.”

Akira bites his lip even as he nods. They have met before. At the cafe. It is understandable if Yusuke doesn’t remember. But that isn’t what the question was about. He wouldn’t have eyed Akira like that otherwise.

Instinctively, Akira knows this won’t be the last time they meet.

 

Excerpt from **G— University Produces Artists to Watch** in Culture Section of _T— Shimbun_ :

The youngest on our list, Kitagawa Yusuke (20), has been under the eye of the art world as the only successful apprentice of the notorious Madarame. His art style is characterised by a strange grace that is firmly on display in the series of papier-mâché sculptures that are part of the second year exhibition. Grotesque and otherworldly, these sculptures represent a departure from earlier work which concentrated on innocent beauty. While the presentation reflects Kitagawa’s inexperience with the medium, the sculptures, named 'Vanity', 'Regress/Regret', and 'Greed', clearly communicate their messages and are infused with such rawness and sincerity that they are an experience to encounter and behold.

 

The third meeting is the first one that matters.

It is in Sunshine City. Akira has been stood up by a date. He waited by the entrance to Namjatown for about half an hour before it became too awkward with the families going in and out of the amusement centre. He went to the restroom for a while to regain a shred of pride, and it’s an hour after his date was scheduled when he comes out. No luck. He takes the escalator down, looking at his shoes.

When he looks up, Yusuke is there. He’s instantly recognisable, even though he has his back to Akira. He’s studying a sign in front of the Sanrio discount shop. He’s wearing a light brown winter coat and has a messenger bag that’s battered and paint-flecked. His scarf might have been white once, but it’s been worn and washed threadbare to the point it looks like a tanned cream.

Akira steps off the escalator. 

“Kitagawa,” he says, not loud but not soft, “Yusuke?”

He looks up. Around. His chin moves over the scarf. His eyes, when they meet Akira, aren’t surprised. They’re more hollow than before. He looks hungry. Almost starving.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t waver.

Akira takes a step forward. Another. He stops with only a couple paces between them. He breathes out. In.

Yusuke hasn’t blinked.

“That’s your name,” Akira says, and it is soft; he’s suddenly afraid; “Right?”

A moment. Suspended. Time.

A twitch. Chin dipping just slightly. Tucking against the scarf. Not rising. 

“Yes.”

A whisper. The scarf nearly swallows it. 

Akira breathes out. 

They end up getting coffee. Yusuke doesn’t order, but Akira didn’t expect him to. He uses his subway card to pay for subpar filter coffees and two slices of chocolate loaf before Yusuke can react. They sit at a cramped table on chairs that are too short for Yusuke’s legs. Akira waits for Yusuke to eat the first slice, pretending to be absorbed in his coffee.

It leaves him open for Yusuke to speak first.

“Kurusu,” and his voice is deep but hoarse from disuse, “Akira.”

A swallow. The coffee burns. Tongue. Mouth. Throat. Belly.

“Yes.”

Yusuke blinks. He picks up his napkin. Wipes his mouth. There’s a minute trembling in his fingers. Whether it’s nervousness, cold, or hunger is unclear. He swallows, his mouth hidden behind his hand and napkin. It moves the muscles in his neck, just visible over the scarf that’s so threadbare it doesn’t hide anything.

“You’re real then,” he whispers, eyes wide and flickering; he still hasn’t lowered his hand. “I thought…”

He doesn’t finish. He presses the napkin over his lips. Looks down. The empty plate that held his slice of chocolate loaf. A queasy colour collects where there should be a flush on his cheeks. Akira looks away. At his cup. Condensation is collecting on the rim. He lifts a hand. Watches the steam rise up between his fingers.

They don’t speak. 

Not for a long time.

 

Yusuke lives alone in a tiny studio provided to him by his university. He has a nameplate on his maildrop, and there’s four other rooms on his floor. Everything smells faintly of paint thinner and rice. Akira unlaces his boots on the tiny entrance mat as Yusuke offers the only pair of house slippers he has. They were once blue. They’re covered in dried paint. 

“My apologies,” he whispers, deep and weak; he stands in his socks, which are clean if clearly threadbare. “Let me clear up.”

Most of the floor is covered in tarp. Yusuke kneels down to roll away a section to make room under the heater. He only has one chair, which has a palate and books stacked on it, so he goes to the closet to pull out cushions. One is slightly lumpy and has sunflowers printed on it. The other is flat and the grey cover fuzzy from too much washing. He offers the grey one to Akira. Doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Thanks.”

Akira accepts the cushion. Sets it down on the floor. Yusuke does the same with his. They sit facing each other while Yusuke takes the remote for the heater from the window sill. It hums to life quickly and quietly. It must have been installed recently.

They sit for a while, warming up. Yusuke loosens his scarf. Akira takes off his gloves. He looks around the room to avoid staring at Yusuke. There’s a tiny kitchenette with a pot on the stovetop, a wardrobe that has a traditional day-to-day calendar pinned to it, a table covered in paint supplies, and a drawer set. The only other room is shut, presumably the bath.

“I’ve,” and his voice is a wisp, barely audible over the heater’s hum, “dreamed about you.”

Akira turns. Looks. Yusuke looks back from underneath his bangs. Underneath his eyelashes. He blinks. Breathes out.

The scent of paint thinner is very strong.

“Joker.”

 

**Anonymous Message Board 2019833 20--/08/19**

_Anonymous User 58_  
I had that dream again. 

_Anonymous User 54_  
Our dream?

_Anonymous User 58_  
Yeah. 

_Anonymous User 54_  
Something different?

_Anonymous User 58_  
There was another person there  
Wore a mask like a fox  
Might have had a tail  
He could summon a huge monster, too.

_Anonymous User 51_  
Fucking creepy.

_Anonymous User 58_  
I think  
If he’s real  
I think he could be like us

 

The izakaya reeks of old smoke and alcohol. It’s cheap, especially since they aren’t drinking, so Akira orders both beef and chicken yakiniku. Akira is hungry; the coffee and cake was all he had since an old apple for breakfast. Yusuke eats steadily between sips of tea, a trained pace that doesn’t match the defensive hunch he takes when biting into his share. As if he expects it to be taken away.

“I can’t afford it,” he’d said, when Akira had mentioned going out.

“I got paid yesterday,” Akira said, and he smiled, even though he felt raw and scared from the discussion they’d just finished. “Please.”

It’s after their third plate of chicken that Yusuke stops eating, two pieces still on his stick. He shifts, turning slightly to engage Akira. He breathes in. Steeling himself.

“Have you met anyone else?”

Akira nods. He sets down his skewer. Yusuke bites into a chicken piece. He doesn’t look away from Akira as he pulls it off. Tips it past his lips. Onto his tongue.

“Yeah. Ryuji’s ‘Skull’. Ann’s ‘Panther’. I talk to them regularly though a message board.”

Yusuke chews. Swallows. He licks his lips. His gaze flickers. He isn’t seeing Akira.

“Light colours,” he says, and it’s flat and deep and almost disembodied. “Yellows. Bright blue. Skull is hobbling. Panther is alone.”

He blinks. Recoils slightly. Looks down. The last piece on the skewer. Akira breathes out. He didn’t realise he was holding his breath. 

They finish eating. Finish their tea and decline refills. Akira doesn’t let Yusuke look at the bill even though he reaches for it. They leave, stepping out into bitterly chilly air, and begin walking for the station. Akira listens to their footsteps. Yusuke is about a head taller than him. It makes the rhythm of their steps uneven.

At the station entrance, Yusuke hangs back. Akira can’t force him to take the train. They face each other in the over-bright light. Their breath mists between them. Falling into the pace that divides them.

“Wait,” Yusuke says, even though they have been waiting through years and years of shared dreams. “Let me give you my card.”

 

The fourth time they meet, it’s at an art gallery.

It is not a coincidence. Yusuke shows up on the message board for the first time since Akira begged him to introduce himself nearly two months before. Ann and Ryuji are surprised as Akira is.

_One of my sculptures is going to be displayed publically. They might be of interest._

The exhibition is in Chiyoda in the ground floor of a grey and glass skyscraper. It’s opening fortuitously coincides with the first of the sakura. Akira feels painfully out of place, standing in the entrance with Ann and Ryuji. He is suddenly conscious of the fact his slacks are covered in cat hair.

They hand the tickets that Yusuke had posted to Akira to the lady at the front desk who directs them towards the open doors that already have a number of people milling about among the art. Ann moves forward but Ryuji lags slightly behind. He sighs through his teeth, likely feeling even more out of his depth than Akira.

“This is really—” he begins but doesn’t finish his thought.

Akira doesn’t blame him. To the right of the door, the grotesque, twisted form of Niijima Sae’s shadow looms. Several other people are looking at it, murmuring excitedly. Akira cannot hear them. If his heart wasn’t hammering so hard, he would scream.

_DIE ON MY BLADE_

“Shit,” Ann says, very softly.

They don’t approach. It’s too much to see that in real life. They move away through the exhibition. Not really seeing anything. By the time they find Yusuke, who is engaged in conversation with a middle-aged couple, Akira just wants out. Yusuke looks over because Ryuji makes a sound. Nothing very loud, but enough to sound slightly aggressive. Yusuke’s expression doesn’t change, but he excuses himself from the conversation after exchanging business cards with the man.

“You saw ‘Leviathan’.” 

While he’s otherwise unreadable, his eyes communicate how unhappy and tired he is. Akira nods. Ryuji doesn’t say anything. Ann shifts. She doesn’t smile. Yusuke looks at her. He looks like he did at the grocery. Cagey. Starving.

“Why?”

A whisper. The middle aged couple have moved away. Yusuke looks down. To the side. His katana handle would be in his line of vision. 

“It’s the one the owner of this gallery wanted to buy,” he says, even softer than Ann’s whispering. 

They hang around, moving from one art piece to another, until the gallery closes. Yusuke joins them after speaking briefly with the gallery director. They go to a Yoshinoya several blocks away, close to the station. They arrange themselves at the counter so that they can all face each other. 

“How much,” Ryuji asks immediately after they order, blunt and to the point as usual, “did you get for the statue?”

Ann kicks him under the counter. Yusuke looks at the countertop. He’s wearing the same scarf and coat as the last time he and Akira met. He looks just as wan and tired. 

“I can afford this meal,” he says into his scarf.

Ryuji looks away. Ann folds her arms on the countertop. Akira wonders if he should say something.

Surprisingly, Yusuke lifts his head. Not much, but he makes eye contact. Akira first. Then Ann. She looks back, blinking in surprise. 

“You’re even more beautiful now.”

Ann stares at him. Ryuji’s head whips back around so hard that his neck pops. Akira bites his lip. He doesn’t know if it’s against a groan or a laugh. Their food arrives at that moment, and they are all successfully distracted. 

 

They end up at Yusuke’s studio. He’s the only one of them who lives alone and has the privacy of being able to come and go as he pleases. Ann lives with a friend, Ryuji with his mother, and Akira above Leblanc. They help Yusuke roll away the tarp he uses to protect the floor while he moves his easel and supplies. It smells less like paint thinner today. 

Yusuke opens the closet and takes out cushions. There’s the same two from the last time that Akira was at his place, but there’s also three new ones. The covers are obviously handsewn from an old yukata, but Akira can see how proud Yusuke is to be able to be more accommodating from how he straightens a bit more as he offers them. 

“This is a nice place,” Ann comments once they’ve settled in and the heater is warming the flat.

“Yes,” Yusuke says, and he smiles as he accepts the tea that Ryuji made in the kitchenette. “I am so lucky to have my own place.”

“It must get lonely,” Ryuji says, looking down to sit. 

Yusuke’s smile widens a little. It lights his eyes. He looks at Ryuji. To Ann. Then Akira. There is a softness to his gaze. It’s very kind.

It hurts. Aches. Deep down inside. 

“Yes,” he says. “A little.”

They sip their tea. Outside, the weather has shifted from chilly to rainy. For a while, they talk about simple things. Ann is attending an all girl’s university. Ryuji works in construction. Akira talks about Morgana, his aging cat. 

None of them have made solid connection outside of each other. None of them have had lives that allowed for it. 

Ryuji laughs lowly when Ann points that out.

“We started to talk to each other on that message board, what, two years ago?” he says, smile lopsided, almost a grimace; “I just thought I was crazy for a while.”

Yusuke sets down his cup. He laces his fingers around his knees. Looks down into his lap. Akira watches. Breathes in. Out. 

“Madarame...” and it’s barely audible, pulled out of a well of silence; “Maybe it was kinder for me to find out through those dreams. At least when he was…”

His mouth opens. Closes. His hands fist over his knees. Ann leans forward. Starts to lift her hand. Yusuke shivers. She stops.

“I wasn’t surprised.”

Akira shuts his eyes. Tries to breathe. It snags. It rattles.

It hurts.

It howls.

This is the worst part. 

 

“But then...” 

Yusuke’s voice. Soft. Steady. Solid. It filters in through the wind in Akira’s head. Through the phantom chains and sensation of drowning. He manages to reopen his eyes. To see Yusuke smile at his hands, now clasped tightly against each other in his lap. He rubs his left thumbnail with the pad of his other thumb.

“Maybe it was worse. Knowing. Not being able to do anything about it. Because it was all just a dream. I could have figured out those truths myself. I just wasn’t strong enough to process it, so I made myself a story, and I imagined I had friends, and that we were heroes, and when I couldn’t take it, I made it into art that frightened me until—”

He laughs. Looks up. There’s tears on the edges of his eyes. Caught in his eyelashes. Ryuji is smiling. Ann leans forward, hand propping her chin up. 

Yusuke stares at Akira like he is looking into the sun. 

“I’m so glad,” he says, level, honest, and true, “that you were my server at LeBlanc that day.”

 

**G— University Message Board 20--/03/09**

_Anonymous User 422918_  
Have you heard the rumours?   
What do you think?  
Are the Phantom Thieves real?


End file.
